How to Honeymoon Alone

“You’re thorough,” I murmur.

His voice is a whisper against my right ear, and against my neck, his newly grown beard tickles. “I always am, Eden.”

“Yes… I know.”

His hands glide along the sides of my chest one final time. “How are you feeling?” he murmurs, and I know he’s asking about yesterday. Words dance on the tip of my tongue.

On the beach, someone claps loudly.

We both turn to see an employee from the hotel, wearing the Winter Resort uniform, standing on the beach with a big smile on his face.

“Sorry to bother everyone!” he says. “But this week’s Winter Olympics is about to begin in the courtyard garden. We have a spot left, so if there’s a couple interested in competing against other guests, we’d love to have you. We start in ten minutes!”

He smiles again and heads back up the beach, toward the main building.

I chuckle. “The Winter Olympics?”

“It’s clever, you have to give them that,” Phillip says. His hands have fallen off my shoulders, but he’s still sitting close behind me.

“Should we go?” I ask.

Just then, a couple stops in front of our lounge chairs. I recognize them as the middle-aged people I’ve met in the elevator the other day, the ones who renewed their vows.

“Hi, you two,” the woman says, throwing a special smile at me. “Sorry, but I couldn’t help but overhear. We took part in the games last week, and it was a blast. You two should join in!”

“Maybe we will,” I say, returning her friendly smile.

She takes a step closer. Beside her, her husband has sunglasses on and doesn’t look particularly interested in talking to us. “Are you two married?”

I glance from her to Phillip, and back. “Here on our honeymoon,” I say.

He huffs a quiet laugh beside me and nudges my knee with his own. I nudge right him back.

“How wonderful,” she says. “It’s the most beautiful place, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it definitely is.”

She pushes her sunglasses up on her head and looks between us. “Where are you two from, then?”

“Chicago,” I say immediately. “I just love the Windy City. Can’t get enough of the skyscrapers and those lovely breezes.”

Beside me, Phillip sighs, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. I don’t know who I am, joking around like this. But it feels good.

“Oh, that’s an exciting city,” the lady says. “We’re from Detroit ourselves. We’re all escaping the winter here together!”

“Sure are!” I say and lean against Phillip’s shoulder. “How long have you and your husband been married?”

“Twenty years, this year. That’s why we renewed our vows. What about you two? Where did you tie the knot?”

“On top of a skyscraper,” Phillip says. His voice is matter-of-fact. Believable. “It was a small ceremony.”

She shifts her focus to him, her eyes widening. “You did? That’s so unique! Did it have any special significance for you two?”

“It’s where we met, actually,” he says.

I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. There’s a stiffness in his jaw that makes me think he’s trying very hard not to smile, either.

I nod. “I was with friends, just admiring the view. And he was performing at a corporate event that was taking place up there.”

Phillip goes very still at my side.

“Oh, is that true? That’s incredible!” The woman says. “Frank, did you hear that? They met on top of a skyscraper!”

He grunts and looks down at the book in his grasp. Based on the cover, it seems like it might be a thriller. A sibling of the true crime genre. Respect.

“What instruments do you play? Or do you sing?” she asks Phillip.

“I’m not musical at all,” he says. “I was a juggler.”

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from bursting into laughter.

“Wow. I didn’t expect that,” the lady says and chuckles. “But then, what does a juggler look like? They could be anyone!”

“We are a pretty universal bunch,” he says. “I only dabbled for a while, really.”

“Oh honey,” I say. “Don’t sell yourself short. You were the best in Chicago.”

He shrugs, the picture of modesty. “You’re biased, Eden.”

“I’m just your biggest fan,” I say.

“Oh, you two are adorable!” the woman beams. “You just have to come and join the games.”

“It does sound like fun,” I say. “We’re in. Aren’t we, Phillip?”

He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“Perfect. Frank, we’ve got our work cut out for us now!” she says with a laugh. “They look like excellent sack racers!”

“What are you doing,” my own lovely husband mutters at my side.

“There are games.” I bat my eyelashes at him like a besotted honeymooner. “And I know how much you love to win.”

He blinks twice before answering. “Fine. But I’m not getting into any sacks.”

He gets into a sack.

Not right away, of course. No, when we arrive at the courtyard garden for the resort-sponsored games, there are various supplies laid out on the lawn in front of the same smiling hotel employee.